In the care home, i walked up to my gaunt and ephemeral-looking man, who asked, who are you? After he understood it was me, he trembled and hugged me intensely with tears in his eyes.
We came home to a busy day in my home office and he slept most of the day and all night.
The next day, things changed. He was increasingly anxious, not helped by my busyness – it being press day. With a sad resignation, I gave him extra meds, as he babbled about Hitting the road. I felt so rotten, because at the Lodge he again had no extra meds in a week.
I can’t seem to get the hang of it and it is clear to me that he is better looked after in the Lodge, no matter what he thinks, and no matter how hard I try.
The truth is, I have a life of my own which constantly distracts me from his needs. I do not even have the desire to do any more than I have for the last 10 years. Having cut back and back and back on my involvement in my career( not totally unhappily because I did used to work too hard although I enjoyed it) I just don’t feel I have any more to give.
The Seniors Health nurse, who phoned today, went out of his way to tell me I had done a great job of caregiving to date, and I sort of believe him.
The trouble with this disease is that no one ever wins. No miracles. No cures. No matter what you do, how hard you try, this disease always wins and steals your love further and further away … until death sets you both free.